


amber of the moment

by Cinnamonbookworm



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Lots of Angst, Season 3 Centric, Time Travel, i got a little carried away with the angst, like this fic is literally just angst, season 2 centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonbookworm/pseuds/Cinnamonbookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Who are you?” she asks, anyways, slowly looking up from the screen of her laptop in the 3 a.m. darkness of her room, trying to blink away the woman staring back at her.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“You. Er- me. Well, us, I guess. Can’t tell you too much because space-time continuum and all that. Ray was pretty clear about that."</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Felicity shrugs it  off as some hallucination caused by her latest caffeine crash and the fact that she hasn’t slept in three days. She sighs, giving in to the craziness of it all and playing along. Might as well get some answers out of her future self before she wakes up from this stupid dream.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, in the quiet moments when no one is looking, Felicity gets a visitor from the future, with a message of hope she really needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. an ocean away

**Author's Note:**

> i have a thing for sad felicity smoak  
> especially sad season 2-ish felicity smoak.  
> so i wrote a fic. one chapter for each pile of angst i'm about to dive into. fic is actually mostly done as-is just wanted to try and see if i could manage to have any fic other than allusions could be updated weekly  
> (and allusions is also coming back this week so!!)

_“Here we are, trapped in the **amber of the moment.** There is no why.”_

_― Kurt Vonnegut_

 

**Summer of 2013**

She’s been staring at this screen for weeks, and it’s not getting any easier. Usually projects like this thrill her, usually it’s exciting to wait and watch and hack. This time, however, this time it’s not.

Something’s different about this project, this search. Something makes it harder to not let her mind wander, ton to be absurdly frustrated every time a result pops up as negative. Something is making her more emotionally attached to this than she should be. And she doesn’t know what it is.

“Lies.” A voice says, one that sounds a lot like her own. And it must be _really_ late, Felicity thinks, and she should probably go to sleep and stop watching Doctor Who, because she should not be hearing voices. “You know exactly why this one’s different.”

Maybe Doctor Who is the reason she so readily accepts an image of herself that is not quite her reflection staring back at her. Maybe she’s just too tired for her conscious to fight against the woman sitting on the plush chair near her bed who looks just like her. Shorter hair, slightly tanner, but still most definitely her.

“Who are you?” she asks, anyways, slowly looking up from the screen of her laptop in the 3 a.m. darkness of her room, trying to blink away the woman staring back at her.

“You. Er- me. Well, us, I guess. Can’t tell you too much because space-time continuum and all that. Ray was pretty clear about that."

Felicity shrugs it  off as some hallucination caused by her latest caffeine crash and the fact that she hasn’t slept in three days. She sighs, giving in to the craziness of it all and playing along. Might as well get some answers out of her future self before she wakes up from this stupid dream.

She raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you suggesting makes this different?”

Older Felicity fixes her with a look that says _are you kidding me right now?_ before answering simply, “Because it’s him.”

It’s true and Felicity knows it. She’s been trying to ignore the fact for a month, going through the procedure as she would to look for any generic missing person. As if this were just another job. Just another mission. As if he were still here.

She looks away from the heavy stare of the woman across from her, up at the ceiling. The same ceiling she’s been staring at late at night ever since he disappeared and left her with too much money and not enough answers. She’s been considering taping a world map on her ceiling, at least that way she can keep thinking when she’s not sleeping. She could keep trying. It’s the least she could do for him.

“Him,” she begins, with an exhale, before shutting off the television and letting her neck rest against the rim of the couch. “What did I ever do to deserve _him?_ ”

“You took a job in California when you had a better offer from Wayne Enterprises.”

Felicity laughs, and it’s too dry for the amount of wine in her system. Apparently this mirage of herself knows more about things than she does right now. “Oh yeah. Why did I do that again?”

Other Felicity just smiles. “You missed your family.”

Well that was a truth bomb. A _true_ truth bomb, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t punch her in the chest and make the space behind her eyes throb.

"Well, I guess I have a new family now. If you can consider someone who seems to care about you and then leaves you all alone with a million dollars and no answers. Except, you know what? That actually sounds a lot like my father minus the money so _that's_ fantastic. Because that means I’m in love with my father so…”

She gets an eyebrow raise in response before what she’s just said fully hits her. There’s a long pause as she contemplates what this means

“I’m in love with him, Felicity lets out a bitter laugh. “Well that makes a whole lot of sense.”

“Yes, you are.” Her reflection smiles.

“I’m so screwed, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“What do I do?... With all this? Should I keep looking? Does he even _want_ to be found? Did I spend all that money re-designing the foundry for nothing?”

“No spoilers.”

“You know, just because you’re _being_ all River Song doesn’t mean you have to _act like it_ too.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough to know that you’re not real.”

“But not _quite_ drunk enough to forget it if I tell you where he is, huh?”

“That would be nice. Telling me where he is. Because he’s not here, I can tell you that. Whatever lie he told Walter and his mother about skiing in the alps is false, because he’s not there, or in Italy, or at any of the _numerous_ estates the Queen family owns, even the ones off the record that his father apparently liked to use to screw interns. None of which I can tell him, by the way, not just because he’s too _stubborn_ to ever hear the cold hard _truth_ about his family, but because _I CAN’T FIND HIM!”_

So great, now she’s screaming at a hallucinated reflection of herself who, of course, has shorter hair just a slightly different shade of blonde and is wearing the kind of dress she’d love to own but never has because everyone knows dresses that look that well made cost much more than her salary, because she obviously hates herself too much to even imagine herself correctly. Correctly being the mess that she is, with her unwashed hair up in some disfigured braid-bun thing, her back aching from the hours she’s spent hunched over her laptop in her bed, and her nails currently bare of polish and bitten to stubs from stress.

“You remember those rich boys? The ones who would come into the the casino when mom was working, and they would order fries and burgers and shakes and buy the tourist crap but everyone knew they were rich because they wore Rolexes and tipped too much and you asked her about why they'd go to a run down casino outside of the strip and she said..."

"Because all rich boys want sometimes is to get away from their parents money." Felicity finishes. "But, he could be _anywhere_ then. _Everywhere_ is away from his family's money."

"But he doesn't know everywhere..."

"He knows the island..." she whispers. "He's at the island, isn't he?"

She looks back to where the image of herself was standing, but instead she finds something more akin to a mirage. Little parts of her fade in and out of existence until she just...fazes out.

Felicity rubs her eyes and tells herself it's time for her to go to bed. She can call Dig with the good news in the morning.


	2. the silence in between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a second appearance occurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to part ii. glad to see you all liked part i so much. still over emotional about season 2 felicity. really excited to see your reactions to where this is going, but we’re still in a lot of set up so just bear with me here.  
> takes place after 2x02

Felicity is having a shitty day.

And she is not one to use that word lightly. But today is a very special circumstance. Because Oliver’s being more of an ass than usual and she officially lost her ID badge for the IT department today and Isabel Rochev is an actual demon in high heels determined to ruin her life. And also he’s asked her to look into every single one of Isabel’s transactions relating to QC, which is an entirely different and entirely boring pile of work in itself. All she’s learned so far is from her actual encounters with the woman. Who seems to think she got this job on her knees. Just like everybody else in the building.

And if she’s quoted Ginny Weasley’s Hungarian Horntail comment at the coffee machine more than once now, well, it’s their fault for not having read Harry Potter. And for believing Oliver Queen had an encounter with a Dragon on Lian Yu. Although, at this point, it really wouldn’t surprise her.

She really should rewatch that movie. If only to vent about the ruining of Ginny Weasley’s character. Maybe Dig will watch it with her. God knows Oliver probably wouldn’t care.

Speaking of Oliver, she should probably check and make sure he’s coming to the board meeting on Monday. She hates that she’s in the kind of position where she has to ask that. She doesn’t even _care_ about the board meeting on Monday.

She lifts her eyes to see if Oliver’s in his office only to be greeted by something entirely different: the same dream she’d had a few months ago. At least… she’s pretty sure it’s a dream. Same pink dress. Same short hair. Same slightly wistful, slightly judgemental stare.

“Okay that’s it,” Felicity says, shoving away the bowl of treats. “I’m never eating these again.”

“You’re not hallucinating.”

“I’m sleep deprived then.”

“Not that either.” The image of her holds out her hand. “Here, I can prove it. Touch me,” She blanches. “I meant-”

“I know what you meant.”

Felicity sighs, because _what is the harm in trying?_ and reaches towards the image of her older self, waiting for her hand to pass through thin air. Except it doesn’t. Her fingers trail along the inner wrist of the woman in front of her, and she can’t help but hold her breath, fearing the illusion will disappear but it doesn’t. She doesn’t. And, yeah, Felicity has to conclude that whatever is in front of her is in fact real and a woman and most likely her. Her from the future. As she’d told her last time.

She’s still not totally convinced.

Because, realistically, she could have any number of things in front of her. A doppleganger, an unknown twin, some robot that looks like her controlled by an army of tiny people. Really, her slight obsession with sci-fi has given her a thousand terrifying conclusions she could jump to. But she trusts this… other Felicity. Something about the sincerity in her eyes.

_God, is this why Walter and Oliver trusted her so much last year?_ _Because if so, they really should be less trusting._

“Okay…” she starts, pulling her hand away. “So this is happening.”

“It’s happening.”

“But - _how?”_

“It’s - well, a long story. Lots of it won’t make sense, and I can’t tell you… for, you know, space-time continuum reasons. And also you won’t believe half of it. So…”

“So you won’t tell me is what you’re saying. Well that’s great. Why are you here then?”

“I don’t know.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, while Felicity goes back to typing on her computer, trying to ruin Oliver’s life in every minor annoying cyberspace way she can to get back at him for this fresh hell he’s given her. This was kind of the opposite of what she wanted when she looked so hard for him, when all she wanted in the world was for him to come back into her life.

She’d wanted… well, she doesn’t know what she’d wanted because it all sound so stupid now. What she ended up with is a job that will keep her from ever being taken seriously in the workplace ever again, here or elsewhere. Because Oliver Queen has ruined her, tarnished her, even though she’s not a 1500s French noblewoman and, despite the rumors, the thing he’s taken from her has nothing to do with sex.

Just her dignity. And her reputation. And her self-respect. Because obviously this would be the point she says she’s out. This would be the point where she marches back in there and tells him once again she wants her old job back and he asks her to stay and she-

Well, she wishes that when he looks at her like he’d looked at her earlier today and asks her to stay, tells her he needs her. She wishes she could just say no. _Hello, my name is Felicity Smoak and my Kryptonite is the way Oliver Queen looks at me when he wants something. And kangaroos. Did I mention kangaroos?_

“You grow to like this place, eventually,” Other Felicity finally lets out. Felicity snaps her head up from her computer.

“Oh really? I’m curious, how is that? Because this kind of feels like hell to me.”

“This isn’t the end. I know it feels like it is, but it isn’t. _This doesn’t ruin you,_ ” she says. And then she has the audacity to eat a handful of chocolate covered coffee beans. _She doesn’t even need them._

“Tell that to my resume.” She can’t focus on the task on the computer, so she flips through the stack of papers to her left. “The way he treats me, I might as well be running this company for him.”

Other Felicity lets out a laugh that is really more of a snort and Felicity glares at her.

“Sorry, that’s funny. You’ll see why later.”

“Are you okay?”

Bits and pieces of her reflection’s left arm have begun to fade in and out of existence. Flitting between transparency and translucency and solid being within seconds.

“Oh,” she says, glancing down at her quickly disappearing arm. “Well this is new.”

“You’ve _never done this before?”_

“Oh no, this is the second time.”

“So you’re telling me you choose to go back in time and you come back to September and now this? Not like the signing of the Declaration of Independence? Or a Shakespeare show? _You could’ve met college-age Steve Jobs!_ ”

“I’m not exactly in control here. I think it’s an emotional connection or something.”

“You must be feeling pretty bad then.”

“Huh?”

“Well you came to me searching for Oliver and then you came here. And both of these times _I’ve_ been feeling terrible, so you probably are too.”  
She looks down to grab a bean or two and when she looks up again her reflection is gone.

She’s too tired and pissed off to question it much. Still, she had a point last time. If Oliver’s not going to acknowledge his ruining of her reputation, she might as well use what’s left of that million to buy some more of these skin tight dresses. Fuel the fire. Make him sweat a little. She honestly could care less.

 


	3. in her dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Felicity shows up on the airplane home in 2x06.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sometimes i go a little overboard with the angst  
> this might be one of those times  
> i am sorry. also 2x06 felicity smoak is painful to think about  
> (and yes, future felicity does have a plotline you guys are going to discover eventually)

She’s sitting next to her on the plane ride back.

It’s a stony silence, colder than the Russian autumn, and Felicity was actually enjoying it. Well, not enjoying it, but enjoying wallowing in it. Wallowing is easier when it’s quiet and she’s alone.

But now she’s not. Now _other_ her is here and looking at her with that wistfully pitiful expression, and once again, it's not helping. She never helps. Just makes everything ten times worse somehow.

Because she should be talking to someone real and human, someone other than herself, but Dig’s still unfreezing and has his own Lyla-related emotions to deal with and she doesn’t want to burden him with her problems. Again. Seems she’s always doing that lately. She doesn’t know what she’d expected.

Maybe she’d thought things were different. That they were getting better. That the signals she’d been picking up the past few months had been something actual and real and not just all in her head. Maybe she’d thought he’d noticed. Or started noticing. Maybe she’d thought he’d stared a little extra long when she’d worn that dress she really loves, maybe she’d thought the wink he’d given her had meant something. Maybe she thought that this had been the year the guy she liked started looking at her differently. The year where for once she got the thing that she’d never gotten in high school.

Nope. All she got was hopeless unrequited often nearly life-destroying devotion to a guy and a cause and a whole lot of judgement and name-calling from her peers for it.

“I’m never buying a short skirt again.” Felicity ends up going with, because the conversation is going to start eventually, and she might as well start it herself this time.

“But you _like_ short skirts,” her future self points out, and well, she has a point. Since, she still seems to be wearing a short skirt.

“But it’s _mortifying._ She’s horrible and he’s horrible and I can’t even… In what world does this make sense? Did talking to you bring me into some terrible alternate universe or something?”

“No.” There’s that stupid sad smile again. “It happened and it sucked and you’re never really gonna feel better about it.”

“Thank you. So much really. I’m feeling _ecstatic_ about that.”

Her words are bitter and she knows it, but doesn’t she have a right to feel bitter about this whole situation? Shouldn’t she draw the line at some point? Let him know there are boundaries that were crossed between them and that he should never have crossed them if he didn’t really mean it. Because he doesn’t mean it, does he? He’s never meant it.

And she would tell him to stop, she really would, if she could only find the strength to.

She’s not strong. She’s not strong like Oliver or Dig or Sara or even Roy. She’s not fierce and determined and driven like Laurel or even Isabel. And she’s definitely not leggy and modely and dark haired.

She’s small and she says the wrong thing and she’s not brave or strong or able to look like she’s just tore a man’s heart out with her teeth and enjoyed it in that way Isabel can. She doesn’t know what she’s been thinking these past few months. And really, she’s feeling all too ashamed about the whole affair to want to talk to Dig about it.

But for now she’ll settle for herself.

So she looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time since she showed up in her room all those months ago. Looks at the short hair, slightly curled and windblown. The pink dress with the white stripes that makes her think of those candy canes she’d always wanted when she was younger. The too-high heels just like the ones she has on right now.

The _something_ she keeps messing around with in her fingers.

Felicity’s not willing to ask what it is. Frankly, she could care less because if it’s a ring like she thinks it is than she doesn’t even want to know why it’s not on her future self’s finger. She doesn’t want to be told that it doesn’t actually get better, that every guy she loves is just going to leave her. She doesn’t want to hear the story about how her future-boyfriend gave back his wedding ring or proposed to her and then died or something like that.

She’s in quite enough crushing pain, thank you very much. She doesn’t need to add another heartbreak to the mix.

And oh how her heart is breaking. Oh how close she feels like she is to throwing up and she would break down sobbing but Dig and Oliver are just a few rows up and will _hear her crying_ even if they don’t hear this conversation and she doesn’t really want to _die,_ just wants to stop existing for a while.

She wants to disappear into nothingness on this train and have her future self take her place because at this point she doubts Oliver would even notice the haircut.

Because he never notices her. Didn’t comment on any of the ways she’s changed since he left for the island last year. And it really should’ve been a sign to her that she’s interchangeable to him. Just a pair of hands on a keyboard. Nothing more, nothing less. And she’s _definitely_ not a woman in his book because the women in his life get played but at least they get a bit of attention first and she’s never gotten any of that.

She’s _so stupid._

“You graduated from MIT at 19 and he never graduated at all and you’re calling _yourself_ the stupid one in this situation?”

“I should’ve- I should’ve known. I should’ve known this was going to happen. I should’ve known that something inside of me is broken and unlovable and all I’ll ever be good for is telling him where the next perp is and giving up _everything_ to him but the worst part is I _did_ know and I still did it anyways because I thought _maybe this time things will be different_. But they weren't. They never are. Probably will never be, judging by that ring in your hands.”

Future Felicity’s eyes widen. “ _What?_ ”

“The thing you’ve been twirling around. Don’t tell me he left you too.”

“No, actually,” she starts, tone sharp before holding back before she says too much. “I’m just… not ready for this- all of this. The life he wants is… I’m just not sure if I can handle being let down again.”

“Great, so I’m still broken in what? Five years? Tell me he understands at least.”

“I don’t know…. I haven’t exactly told him yet.”

“Common denominator here. Not telling things. Well, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll keep you from being like me: humiliated and heartbroken. Oh wait,” she lets out a bitter laugh. “You _are_ me. Haha. We’re both doomed.”

You know, she’s getting really tired of that pitied expression.

She wishes this would all just stop and turn back time and she wouldn’t go into work that day Oliver Queen showed up in the IT department because at least maybe then she wouldn’t have just lost everything. Well not everything. But everything that she’d thought was sacred. Isn’t her heart supposed to be sacred? Untouchable? Isn’t it supposed to be off limits? Isn’t it supposed to be protected from him?

But now here she is, heartbroken, and _he’s the one_ off limits and she really hates herself right now.

At least future her has that ring to hold onto. At least sometime in the future she’ll forget that she was born unloveable. At least that blind kind of ignorance to her true nature will make her happy for the time being.

She closes her eyes and hopes the world will go away. She wishes her head would just stop thinking. Because all she’s thinking about is him. And it’s destroying her.

And she’d let it keep destroying her, no matter the personal cost, if he would just look back right now and notice the fact that there are tears on her face.

He doesn’t look back.

He never does.


	4. in the vaguest sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> depression and anxiety warning  
> Felicity wants a day to not exist anymore. Future!Felicity allows an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i warned this fic would get sad and well... it's getting sad  
> all of these are based upon my own personal experiences, and i've tried to keep it from being _too_ triggering, but if you think this chapter is going to trigger you, i'd suggest not reading it. for those of you who do want to connect with felicity on this level, though, read on, friends.  
>  takes place after 2x14

Felicity’s alarm goes off at 5:30 in the morning.

She hits snooze.

It goes off a second, third, fourth time, and Felicity decides she’s not getting out of bed.

Then a hand touches her back and she jumps and screams and nearly hits the ceiling.

Turns out it’s just herself. Future-her stands in front of her in all her older glory with her hands on her hips and trying to hide a smile behind a mock frown.

“Get out of bed, Felicity.”

Suddenly, Felicity feels a kind of tired that has nothing to do with her lack of sleep. It’s the kind that’s been slowly creeping up on her for months now. The kind that makes her want to just dissolve into nothingness. Or, at the very least, dissolve back into her covers.

A flash of recognition shines in the eyes looking down on her. The stupid empathetic frown she’s getting really sick of also makes a reappearance. Felicity thinks someone should tell it no one asked for an encore.

“You have to go to work, Felicity,” she tries, but it’s a half-hearted attempt at best.

Felicity gets out of bed.

She goes to the kitchen, makes her coffee, realizes that the very idea of food makes her want to throw up, and goes into the bathroom to do her makeup.

She’s always liked this part of the day. Well, at least she used to. Bright lipsticks and makeup brushes are a calming reminder of going through her mother’s makeup bag when she was at work as a twelve year old, wondering if maybe enough fire-engine-red lipstick would make the manager at the casino let her work as a waitress for some extra cash. Makeup is one of the only connections she shares with her mother. Even when she went goth and tried to get as far away from her Vegas past as possible, the lipsticks stayed.

Now, however, the tubes feel clumpy and the shades look dull and all she really wants is to become some sort of non-existential being that makeup just passes through.

“I’m not going back there. Not today.”  
“You really should, you know.”

“You say that, but the only reason I’m not crying right now is because it will mess up my makeup.” One of her earrings slips out of her grasp and falls into the sink. Her breathing gets a little shallow but she swallows it down. She sighs. “I’m not going back.”

“You’re still getting dressed,” her future self points out.

“I know, I know, I'm broken and a terrible mess of contradictions and I should just stop waking up and going out at all. But I _can’t_ , because _he needs me._ He _always_ needs me. And that’s why I need to got to work.”

“Stay _home,_ Felicity,” she says, and she’s surprised at her future self’s firmness on the subject, because she’s fairly sure she ended up going to work today the first time around, but she listens to her anyway. Because all she really needed to change her mind was permission, and now she has it.

She raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Future Felicity replies. “This day is pointless. Oliver barely shows up, everyone is gone for that conference in Honolulu, and this will have no effect on your future, I promise. I can have some calculations run, but I’m fairly sure. _Stay home, Felicity._ ”

It’s all she needs to hear.

She spends the entire day waiting for something to get screwed up, for Diggle to call with news that Oliver’s been shot, for Future Felicity to suddenly stop existing, for the apartment to blow up, but nothing happens. They just sit there and watch things on Netflix and eat popcorn and she slowly begins to feel better. She doesn’t feel stretched quite as thin.

“How bad is the television where you come from?” she asks as they’re watching Once Upon A Time together.

“ _This show_ is more confusing, Doctor Who is still ruined by Moffat, Scandal’s still pretty good.”

“Let’s switch to Scandal then, make sure I jump on the right train of good television.”

They watch for a little bit, with no conversation other than the needed intervals of commentary from the two of them about reality and relationships and very vaguely talking about their own problems through the characters.

Her future self is better at the vague part than she is, though, because she ends up ranting about her own feelings without any characters to hide behind anyways. Turns out more of her is still hurt than just her shoulder.

“He’s with Sara now, guess that whole _someone I could really care about_ speech was just a giant way to let me down easy. Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about whether or not they get hurt when it comes to the Lance sisters.” It’s not a true statement, but it kind of feels that way. She should’ve known. _Arrow_ and _Canary_ , it makes sense.

She’s not meant for superheroes to love (either of them), she is meant for nice, normal guys like Barry Allen, who get her stupid references and know it’s polite to tell her she’s pretty when she’s wearing a ballgown. She’s meant for guys like Barry Allen who get struck by lightning days after they meet and leave her with false hope and a crushing sense of abandonment so she’ll never feel swept off her feet again. That way she doesn’t fall for guys like Oliver Queen. (Or really, girls like Sara Lance, if she’s being fair to this theory). He’s not out of her league because he’s Oliver Queen, but because he’s _the Arrow_ , and her knowing his secret only makes things worse. Because now he _trusts her_. And she trusts him. With everything. Including her heart, which he’s stuck full of more arrows than his first victim, and yet it’s pulse continues to beat stronger than ever. Because she’s an idiot. And in love with him. Which is why she isn’t at work today.

“How’s mister ring guy?”

Future Felicity sighs and looks down at her hands, where she’s still playing with the ring. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m glad you got enough time with him for an engagement before he left. Unless you guys got Vegas-married. Do _not_ tell me you got Vegas-married. Mom would never forgive you for that.”

Nevada doesn’t really offer a great sex-ed program to it’s high school students, but it’s abstinence-only attitude is drilled into the heads of every kid whose parents work the strip before they even _reach_ 8th grade.

People who have sex end up married to strangers and have to pay too-much-money to get a divorce. people who have sex end up having to raise children by themselves because usually one parent leaves. (Felicity was pleasantly surprised to find that this trend isn’t quite as common on the East Coast).

She’d promised herself long ago that marriage would not be the endgame. She’s still not totally sure if she even _wants_ to get married; she knows all-too-well it’s nothing but a fragile commitment that usually ends up being broken after a year or so. If she _does_ find herself a soulmate, they’ll have to be okay with knowing that marriage isn’t something she sees as meaning anything.

She wonders if Barry Allen would want to get married. She’s been doing that a lot lately, projecting her fantasies of a soulmate onto the guy who she only knew for like three days who currently lies in a coma hundreds of miles away. The guy she somehow keeps finding herself visiting because he’s currently her hope of getting out of this torture that is unrequited love for Oliver Queen. The guy who is always late but promised to be on time for her. But he was late anyway, because life decided to hit him with lightning and now he might not ever be able to go on a date with _anyone_ again, much less her.

She likes to think Barry would understand her reluctance to get married.

“Did he leave because you said you weren’t ready to get married?” she asks her older self and watches as her face falls a little bit. “Oh... You haven’t answered him yet. Or is it a her?”

“It’s a him. And no, I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Well,” Felicity grumbles, “I doubt going through the whole top 10 times you got your heart broken is going to convince you to marry him. Then again, so far all of this heart-breaking has been done by Oliver Queen, so maybe this _will_ make you want to marry this mystery guy just through sheer comparison.”

She looks down at her mint chip and eats another scoop of it, not wanting to look her other self in the eye. Maybe it’s just the Doctor Who on the TV, but she doesn’t really want to know much about this almost-engagement. She doesn’t want to know which guy it is who makes her forget about Oliver Queen, she wants to be surprised. She wants to feel the whoosh of first dates and early mornings and all the stuff she’d had with Cooper again. She wants to know how far this is in the future, though.

“You still keeping the popcorn on the top shelf?”

“Yeah,” Felicity says.

“Popcorn and wine. I feel like Olivia Pope.”

“If you tell me this mystery fiancee is _anything_ like Fitz, I’m holding you prisoner in the past and making you reconsider all your life decisions.”

Future Felicity smiles, probably unconsciously twisting the ring around again. “I’d like to think he’s more of a Jake.”

“Ewwww.” Felicity disapproves, shaking her head. “We don’t like him, remember?” She gives her future self a pointed look. “ _Right?_ ”

“Things get better in future seasons is all I’m saying.”

“But did you meet this guy by him stalking you?”

“No spoilers.”

“Oh, _come on._ ”

“Let’s just say he makes me want to stand in the sun.”

That makes absolutely no sense to Felicity, so she lets it be, but her questions about the future continue, and they play a rapid-fire game of yes and no until the inevitable _no spoilers_ comment comes up and Felicity sighs, deterred for the moment.

“How can you be so calm about this all the time? Doesn’t it give you like, _I don’t know_ , traumatic flashbacks or something?”

“Everything works out okay in the end.”  
“You keep saying that, but you don’t give me any information. You’re just as bad as that stuff mom is always pinning on Pinterest. Give me something _real._ ”

“Can’t do that. Space-”

“Time-continuum, yeah I know. Isn’t there _anything_ you can tell me?”

Future Felicity purses her lips, but she’s giving in, she can tell by the slight deflation of her shoulders. Perks of talking to yourself, she guesses.

She starts out tentatively, with a slight shake of her head and a far-off look in her eyes. “People die. People live. There’s a lot of crying. And then a whole lot of laughter. A wedding…” she glances back at the ring in her hands, “...a proposal. A baby. A lot of new friends. A whole _lot_ of impossible things. Like, time travel doesn’t even scratch the surface kind of impossible things.”

She leaves then, and Felicity’s alone in her silence.

She’s been so alone recently. All she’s had is Diggle - and herself, apparently. She’s even felt so isolated she’d thought about calling her mother and dodging the inevitable boyfriend question just to hear someone else’s voice.

Felicity checks the search they currently have going on this kidnapping of a child, but it freezes midway. She tries again, the same thing happens. Felicity curses; they must’ve updated their protection system. Maybe with some help from ARGUS. She can crack it, of course, but it'll take a lot of energy and her heart’s not really in it right now. She starts to type in the code and finds the loud white noise of anxiety clouding her head instead.

She closes her laptop and lays down on her bed, covering her head with her pillow and shutting her eyes with the prayer that tonight she won’t cry herself to sleep.


	5. slipping through her fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Something snaps inside her in the empty Queen mansion._
> 
> Post 2x23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha the chapter title is funny. you'll see why later  
> anyway, actual plot stuff picking up here (kind of). also WHY THE HELL DID I THINK THIS FIC WAS A GOOD IDEA AGAIN.   
> THIS CHAPTER IS LATE BECAUSE I DIED REWATCHING THOSE 2X23 SCENES TO GET CONTEXT FOR THIS

Something snaps inside her in the empty Queen mansion. Some last string of hope she’d been so carefully watching over breaks and she’s left alone with nothing but a syringe and the fear curling in her chest and the knowledge that everyone she loves is just going to leave her alone again and think they’re doing the right thing.

She wasn’t lying earlier. She doesn’t care about being safe; she wants to be with him. But not like this. Never like this. Not when she's only his to fool whatever new supervillain is in town. Not when the only ironic sort of benefit she gets from this stupid unrequited love is that everyone at works thinks she’s sleeping with the guy who gave up his own family's company. The sarcastic phrases of sympathy that she’d gotten when she’d cleared out her desk are not an experience she’d like to repeat and yet she knows she’d do it again fro him. She’s given up her job, her life, her safety, her heart, whatever amounts of self respect she has left all for him. And she knows she’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he asked. _God_ , _why is she so stupid?_

She sits on the steps of the grand hallway that Thea and Oliver used to run down as children. She wishes she would have memories to associate with this house, but she has none. None except this. What a horrible memory to associate with such a beautiful building.

Slade’s probably watching right now. Maybe he thinks it’s odd the way she’s reacting to this. Hopefully he’ll mistake her brokenhearted frown for one of worry. She _is_ worried, just allowing herself to wall in her sadness until when he comes to get her.

Future Felicity fazes in on the step next to her. Not a hair out of place, as always. She doesn’t even look up. Felicity doesn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to relive this moment either.

Instead of starting up a conversation, she counts the stripes on her pink and white dress.

_Pink._ He loves me.

_White_. He loves me not.

_Pink._ He loves me.

_White._ He loves me not.

_Pink._ It’s not like it really matters.

_White._ This is just to fool Slade.

_Pink._ Even if he did he wouldn’t tell her.

_White._ And really he probably still loves Laurel.

_Pink._ Or Sara.

_White._ Which is why he was okay risking her life like this.

_Pink._ Using her as bait.

_White._ Anything goes when it’s to save Laurel.

_Pink._ Or cure Slade.  


She slips her hands into her pocket and twirls the syringe around with her fingers. Maybe this isn’t about women he loves at all. Maybe it’s just about the mission, about saving the city. Maybe all his strings are broken too. Maybe he’s given up on love.

She wishes she could do that.

“This was the worst part, I think.,” her future self finally speaks. “Just waiting around here and wondering whether or not he’d meant it. He never tells you, by the way. You can ask but he’ll never tell you. I guess I should ask him again…”

It doesn’t make her feel better. Great, they never talk about it. He just pushes her away and keeps his secrets. Like he always does. And she was dumb enough to think that this time would be different.

Felicity plays with the tendrils of the dusty carpet beneath her, curling them around her fingertips like little nooses. She lets them go, and it becomes a cycle of boredom.

“What do I do?” she asks. “After this, I mean. How do I move on from what he’s done? Do I just… do I stop?”

“You can’t stop,” she replies with the knowing look Felicity has come to know.

She’s right, though. She’d started all this just to find Walter but now - now she doesn’t think she could give this up if she tried. Not to mention that the team’s become so dependent on her intel that she’s pretty sure they’d fall apart without her. This is so much bigger than whatever her original reasons were now, and, after all he’s put her through, she should walk away, she knows she should, but she just _can’t._

( _I don’t want to be safe, I want to be with you_ ).

Well, she wasn’t lying there.

She stopped caring about her own safety long ago. She’d convinced herself she was going to die in the basement under Verdant this time last year, and she doesn’t think she’s ever regained that part of her soul she relinquished down there.

She was willing to die for this city then, and she’s willing to now. She’s willing to let Slade slit her throat with his broadsword if it means she can cure him of Mirakuru. She’s willing to let her last words to Oliver be a terrible, terrible lie because _no, she does not understand, she does not understand one bit._

Sure, she understands on a surface level. She understands why it had to be her - she’s used to being the one everyone underestimates, and used to Oliver knowing that fact. She understands why it’s believable - anyone with half a brain can see that she’s hopelessly in love with him. But what she doesn’t understand, what she cannot help but question, is why it didn’t feel like he was lying.

Oliver Queen is a terrible liar, she _knows this._ She’s known it, quite literally, since the moment they met. His stories are steaming piles of crap, he always looks away when he’s lying, and he’s just never been able to lie to her if his life depended on it. Except now, now he had.

She also doesn’t understand why he had to add in the _I love you._ He could’ve just left it at “he took the wrong woman” but no, no, he had to take a step forward, pulling her into his orbit so close she swears if he’d leaned down to kiss her she wouldn’t have hesitated, he had to practically _breathe into her_ a declaration of love that even now she doubts the cameras would’ve picked up on.

Oh yes, she’s noticed the cameras now.

She hasn’t had much to do but just sit here and survey the Queen Mansion, so when one caught her eye, under the painting right beside where he’d given her quite possibly the worst kind of thing anyone has ever given her: false hope.

The only other two people ever to do that were her father (who swore he’d be home for dinner on Wednesday) and Cooper’s lawyer. Her father never came home. Cooper went to jail and hung himself there.

Oliver Queen told her he loved her as part of a lie.

She knows it probably doesn’t seem like it compares to the other two by much, but it does, because he made it personal. He just had to make her believe it, didn’t he? He just had to, for a second, throw every rational thought in her head off the table and set her down on it and kiss the hell out of her in that stupid metaphorical way that reflected too many of her fantasies too well.

At least he hadn’t kissed her.

At least she can hold onto that.

Because honestly, if he’d kissed her she doesn’t think she could’ve ever forgiven him. And she’ll forgive him for a lot. She’ll forgive him for this, like she always does, because now he’s left that stupid spark in her head of _maybe he might’ve meant it_ and now she is stuck with the last shred of hope that maybe, when all this is over, he’ll tell her he did.

“Haha.” her future self laughs and it’s bitter and honestly, Felicity feels like laughing bitterly too because this is quite possibly one of the worst days of her life and maybe humor will make it stop hurting a little faster. “You shouldn’t expect that much of Oliver Queen. He’s terrible at timing and also at expressing himself, but you should know that by now.” She gestures to the surrounding Queen Mansion.

Felicity wonders if Slade can also see this second Felicity or if this is really some terrible mirage on her part. Maybe she’s like a vampire and she can’t appear on camera.

Still, what she’s said has her thinking… everything has her thinking right now. It’s unthinkable, and she knows it, but maybe she just needs something to keep her going in this right now. Maybe she needs something unthinkable to keep her from crying during what is promising to be a very rough, very long, very draining night.

“Is it… did Oliver give… is the ring…?”

Future Felicity’s shoulders tighten a bit at the statement, or maybe it’s just her imagination. It’s probably - definitely - just her imagination, but maybe she’ll humor her a little bit with this. Maybe they’ll make it into a game to pass the time.

She turns, short hair brushing her shoulders, towards her, ring still being twisted around between her palms. “Would it make this more bearable if I said it was?”

“Just… humor me.”

“Well, if, hypothetically-speaking, it _was_ Oliver who gave me this ring, would you accept it?”

She takes a deep breath to answer but her future self cuts her off - “Would you accept it after all the things he’s done here? Would you be able to forgive him for it? Even knowing that things could possibly get worse in the future? Would you be so ambivalent that it would warrant you visiting every single time you’ve felt at your lowest because of him if you step into a time-stream because you’re feeling so connected to those moments?”

Felicity feels kind of sick at that question, so she deflects. She doesn’t want to know anymore. “Time stream, huh?”

“Well, technically it’s not a stream, more like a liquid. Did you know time was a substance that could become a liquid? I didn’t, but it turns out it is. It’s also kind of pink. Who would’ve thought, right?”

“So this - all this - is because you stepped in a puddle of time?”

“More or less so, yes.”  
“How come no one else is here?”

“They’re probably facing their own demons right now.”

“Oh.” 

_Oh._ She’s probably going to hate that word for a while now. The guy you’ve been in love with for almost a year now tells you he loves you back and all you can say is  _oh._ For such a small word, it truly can convey a lot about who she is as a person. She’s the kind of person who, for as much as she lets slip out in everyday conversation, can’t say a real word when it really counts.

Maybe it wouldn’t have felt like such a ruse if she’d been able to say something back.

Or maybe it’s best that she didn’t. At least this way her feelings for him can just simmer under the surface and no one will actually have to pretend they exist.

It’s not like he’s been pretending they exist anyways. Now they can just go back to that.

Except Felicity doesn’t _want to_ go back to that. Going back to that means risking this whole mess again. Going back to that means him just silently acknowledging her feelings but not doing anything about it except for being extra grumpy when people pay attention to her.

She’s not doing that again.

If he can take all her agency in this situation, she’s never letting him take it again. She’s determined to _do something about it_ for once. No matter how many raised eyebrows her future self is giving her.

It’s funny, usually she’s gone by now. But she’s still here, watching, waiting. Maybe this is supposed to be some extra long sort of torture, since she’s been here almost since the second that Oliver left, and she’s guessing she’ll be here until Slade arrives.

She really doesn’t want Slade to arrive.

“Can I try it on? The ring - I mean.”

Future Felicity’s eyebrows go up and she moves to look at the ring in her hands. “I don’t know if it’ll fit you, truth be told I haven’t even tried it on yet. It would make it too-”

“- too real. I get it. Does it count if I try it on?”

She sighs, twisting the ring between her thumb and forefinger one more time. Then she throws it over to her, which would be a great idea, except for the fact that Felicity fumbles the ring and it bounces down several steps before landing on the dark floor of the Queen Mansion.

There is a terrifying moment there where Felicity wonders if she has actually lost the almost-engagement ring of her future self. She wonders if this is how Slade will find her; crouched on the ground looking for a ring that isn’t even hers.

Of course, this is right around the time her other self starts to faze out. Talk about bad timing.

“The ring!” she shouts, but Felicity’s still searching the ground and can’t find it.

“I’ll find it, I promise!”

“You _can’t lose it._ This ring - you can’t even begin to understand what it means.”

Okay, so her future self is a little melodramatic. She can live with that.

Finally, one of her fingers grasps onto something small and metal and yep, it’s the ring, but when she goes to give it to other Felicity, she finds she’s too transparent to hold it.

“You’ll have to keep it safe. _Promise me, Felicity?_ ”

“I - I promise.”

“Next time I see you you’d better be holding that ring.”

Neither of them say what both of them are thinking. Neither of them bring up that this might be the last time either of them see each other, since this kind of seems like the epitome of heartache, maybe there’s not anything worse to go to.

Still, she nods her head and slips the ring onto her left middle finger without even taking the time to examine it.

Her reflection disappears. Heavy footsteps come from outside the house. Felicity sits on the steps in the foyer of the Queen mansion and tries not to cry.


	6. on the worst day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Maybe you’ve messed up everything.”_  
>  “I haven’t-”  
>  _“Maybe you don’t remember.”_
> 
> Post 3x10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I was traveling!  
> so yes, the plot from last time is still progressing, and well... so is the angst. i'll let you guys decide the realities of all this

It’s seven months before she sees her again.  
Seven months filled with feeling like she’s drifting out in the open ocean and a storm is approaching and she can’t see any land. Seven months with the ring as her lighthouse, a shaky, scarcely believable lighthouse, but a lighthouse nonetheless.

It’s the ring that makes her forgive him.

It’s the ring that lets her say yes when he asks her to dinner.

It’s the ring that gives her the power to walk away.

It’s the ring that gives her the power to walk to Ray and tell him she wants more out of life.

It’s the ring that’s on her finger when she goes to cut her hair but she can’t bear to part with more than a few inches. She can’t quite let herself reach the levels of pain that would encourage her to part with the rest of this hair.

So she’s not at Future!Felicity’s level yet. She can handle that. She can handle the way things are going, because this ring, it’s _got to be Oliver’s_. Things _have to_ work out in the end. _Don’t they?_

There’s a flicker in the back of her mind that the ring might belong to Ray, and that’s why, when he leans down to kiss her, she doesn’t resist, because she’s just _so tired_ of feeling like she isn’t worth it. She’s worth it. She’s worth enough to be sought after.

That’s why she has the ring in her possession after all, isn’t it? Because someone out there, someday, is going to want her enough to propose.

And she’s going to have to think about it.

Except then she’s standing in the foundry with a sword in front of her that’s undeniably covered in Oliver’s blood and she can’t keep lying to herself anymore.

She doesn’t even know if her encounters last year were real.

Maybe Moira Queen dropped this ring on the floor of the Queen Mansion and it was forgotten about. Maybe, in her delirious need for a friend and for hope she made this entire thing up. Maybe the diamond’s a fake.

She bets it’s a fake.

She’s had that kind of terrible luck lately.

That’s why, when the apparition she’s gone so long without seeing suddenly appears in front of her, same short hair, same pink and white striped dress, same terrible pitied look - as if no time had even passed at all - she can wave it off.

At least, Felicity tries to.

“You’re not real,” she lets out, a scathing remark in an expanse of sorrow.

Future Felicity looks at her with an expression she can’t quite fathom - _pity maybe?_ Felicity sniffles and then repeats her statement. “You’re clearly not. Just some awful sign that I’m losing my mind.”

Her reflection smiles sadly. “What makes you think that?” she asks.

“You’re _happy._ ”

The argument touches something in her, she can tell, and she’s so spurned by it that she keeps going. “Your nails are painted, your hair’s still blonde and you’ve been circling your wrists ever since you first showed up, meaning you’re still doing some sort of heavy hacking, but you _can’t_ be. I can’t _._ I can’t do that ever again. Not without him. I _can’t.”_

“ _Never say never?”_ she lets out wearily.

“Just shut up.”

Felicity rolls over to her stomach, trying to block out the world with her blankets, and just sits there for a moment, chest heaving from the crying. She’s going to have black makeup all over her sheets in the morning. She honestly could care less.

Things are quiet for a moment, and she lets her anger seep into her pillow before rolling onto her back again. Other Felicity is still watching.

She groans. “Aren’t you supposed to go away now or something? Isn’t that how it works? I realize you’re not real and you go away.”

“If only it worked that way.”

“Great. So you’re just going to leave me too.”

“Not everybody leaves you, you know.”

“Well the track record hasn’t been that good so far.” Felicity twists the ring around her finger, a habit she’s taken to using to calm herself down. “Let me guess, ring guy’s gonna change all that?”

“He might. Maybe.”

“I’m not giving it back, you know.”

“ _What?_ ”

“This is the _only thing_ that has gotten me through these past seven months. The only thing because _you were not there,_ and don’t - don’t try and tell me that you’ll be back because we both know that that’s a lie. You have no idea where you’re showing up and, for all I know, we’re never seeing each other again. Also, I’m keeping it because I don’t think you should marry him.”

“You know _nothing_ , you know absolutely _nothing_ about my life - _your future_. What makes you think you have any right to to intervene here?”

“Because,” Felicity starts, slowly growing more determined, clenching her teeth and practically spitting out her words, “ _He’s. Not. Oliver._ How?- How can you possibly be happy after this? How can you _move on?_ How can you?- I never said it back. He told me he loved me so many times and I never said it back and he _died_ without me ever saying it! How is that _okay?_ How are _you_ … okay?”

“He’s not as worth it as you think he is.”

“How _dare_ you-”

“You’ve built up this fairly perfect image of him in your head and you think, for some crazy reason, that it’s true, that he’s not going to leave you like Dad did - like Cooper did. But guess what, Felicity? He left. And you’re here blaming yourself for it. How did you ever think an equal working relationship was going to happen when you don’t even see yourselves as equal?”

_“SHUT UP!”_ Felicity yells, throwing her pillow over her head to block out the words of her future self. She just wants to wallow in _peace_ , goddammit. She’d rather answer everyone’s worried phone calls than hear the terrible - albeit true - things.

Maybe this overwhelming sense of self hatred is why she’ll be able to finally walk away from Oliver. Maybe that’s why her reflection keeps showing up at the times when she hates herself. Ha.

At least something good comes out of wanting to dissolve into nothingness.

Her future self seems to have no qualms about said wanting to dissolve into nothingness, because she keeps on going, voice slowly reaching the same level as the echo of Felicity’s that was left in the air after her outburst, and all it’s doing is tightening her chest in response.

“You can’t let the people you love just walk all over you, Felicity. You can’t just give them everything in the hopes that they’ll give you just _something_ in return. Shoulder touches and noncommittal phrases aren’t treasures to be savored; they’re just terrible, teasing _taunting_ memories that you’re probably going to spend the next few weeks hating yourself for so just _let him go,_ Felicity.”

“You can leave now.”

“Wha-”

“Go! Get out! I don’t want you here. I sure as hell don’t need you here. I’ve been doing just _fantastic_ without you these past six months. Surely you haven’t forgotten how _fucking terrible_ this entire situation was. I don’t need you making me feel worse.”

She doesn’t leave. She doesn’t leave and Felicity can feel her entire body tense with that feeling of unparalleled rage and hurt. The one time since their last encounter that she doesn’t want her there and she refuses to leave.

And then, it comes. A word in the silence and the darkness, barely audible between Felicity’s heavy, sob-stained breaths.

“Rochester.”

Felicity turns on her side, away from her future self, but keeps listening anyway, her breaths becoming quiet in the stillness of the night.

“He is Rochester and you are Jane and this is still part one. You cannot let the story end while you still let your life revolve around him. This could be your crucible and instead of taking it by the horns you’re sitting here blaming yourself, just like last time.”

“But I’m not blaming myself,” Felicity finally lets herself say, letting out a ghost of a bitter laugh, absent of sound enough that it’s mostly just a rhythmic series of breaths. “I’m blaming you. You- you come around her with speeches and hope, _god, you gave me hope_ , and you gave me this _shitty ring,_ and you haven’t even realized you might’ve changed everything.”

The ring flies across the room then. Felicity doesn’t check to see where it lands, because her apartment is cold and the ring is too and so is her heart now. Everything feels cold nowadays. Especially that diamond.

“Maybe if you hadn’t made me think there could be someone else who would make me happy enough to get married I wouldn’t have learned he loved me right before he went off to his death. “ _Maybe you’ve messed up everything._ ”

“I haven’t-”

“ _Maybe you don’t remember._ ”

This time, when she puts the pillow over her head, she doesn’t take it off. This time she tries to suffocate herself in the darkness that is solitude. She pushes everything to the back of her mind until the only thing left besides the ringing in her head is that crushing sense of _I didn’t say it back_.

And then she sleeps.

And then she hears a knock at the door.

Her future self is gone and she is left with the too-overwhelming feeling of _this is it_. Something is about to happen. Something that may not have happened before. Something is about to happen and plot twist: it’s not anything she can expect.

Or maybe it’s not a plot twist at all.

Maybe the plot was twisted long ago, in a secret of summer where the hot haze of air was crushing down on reality just enough to let a crack of future spread in. When all she wanted was something other than the monotonous reality that he’d never love her and she’d never find him and that strings of red fate can be cut when you pull up walls of ice around your heart.

He’s at the door then. Strong arms and that smile that makes her feel safe and he pulls her in and she just clutches to him and cries and doesn’t want to let him go because she finally feels like maybe this is family.

Maybe there’s still someone she doesn’t have to be terrified of being left by.

They cling to each other like support beams, the friction between their arms the only thing that is really holding either of them up at this point. They’ve both lost too much to take too many steps alone these days.

They sit across from each other at her small wooden table in the kitchen and shoves a cup of coffee at him and she waits for him to speak. She doesn’t think she can anymore. Last time she was supposed to say something she let it fall silent.

He takes a sip. “Your coffee is terrible,” is all he says.

“Really?” Felicity asks him, managing a flicker of a smile and a glance down at the wooden space between them. “That’s what you came here to say?”  
He smiles then. “I was trying to make you smile.”

He takes another sip of coffee then. Felicity wonders if it really tastes terrible.

She’d make another one but she has to be sure she’s not dreaming.

“How are you?” he asks, and Felicity finds herself drawn to his gaze like it’s a tractor beam.

“Oh, don’t you know? The guy I love died and I never said it back.”

“Felicity-”

John Diggle’s voice has always calmed her down. But it doesn’t now. It can’t. Not even when he reaches across the table and it takes everything in her not to flinch away.

“We don’t blame you for leaving but the team, Roy and I, we don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. None of us want to feel alone right now. We’re still friends, first and foremost, Felicity. You leaving doesn’t change that.”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she just takes a sip of his coffee. He was right. It is terrible.

_She can’t even make coffee right anymore._

“Also Roy asked me to tell you that he’s dragging you out of this apartment tomorrow. Sin and a few other people are having a New Years party. It’s not really my speed but - he lost someone too.”

_Felicity does not want to go to that._ “I’ll be there.” _But she’ll do it for Roy._ “What time is it?”

“He said it starts at 10 but I’m sure he has more details to share with you. Just - come meet us at Big Belly Burger tomorrow, okay? Oliver’s not the only one on the team who loves you, Felicity.”

“He’s not the only one I love either.”

Diggle reaches over the table and intertwines their fingers. She breathes not to her own pulse but his, taking the steady rhythm into her mind and trying to burn it there so she won’t stop breathing again. So she won’t breathe too fast.

So her mind won’t shut out and the ringing in her ear won’t get loud and her breaths won’t be shallow and uneven and out of control.

She’s not alone. She has Dig. And Roy. She’s not alone. Oliver didn’t leave her alone. He’s not like Cooper. He’s not like her father. Or maybe she’s just different this time. Maybe this time she didn’t pour all of her soul into on person.

Maybe this time she’ll be okay.

Dig leaves and she finds the ring on her floor, stuck between her floorboards. Maybe her future self didn’t take it after all.

Or she was hallucinating again. They say grief will make you do that.

Five stages. And she’s stuck experiencing every one all at once on continuous repeat while the never ending alarm in her ear goes on and on like the television used to when it went to grey screen when she was younger and stuck in the neon lights of never wanting to grow up.

Maybe if she lets it continue, if she lets it blot out the pale pink dot that is the rest of her life, she won’t have to grow up any more. Maybe then she won’t have to go back and mess everything up and somehow still look happy.

She doesn’t understand that.

Not anymore.


End file.
